


On the Beam

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 18:24:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11340891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: The shortest distance between two solitary points isn't always a straight path.





	On the Beam

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

On the Beam by rac

On the Beam, by rac  
...the shortest distance between two solitary points isn't always a straight path.  
Rating: slash, Mulder/Skinner, NC-17  
Spoilers: Unrequited  
Disclaimer: The Great and Almighty CC Oz and Ten Thirteen Productions own the characters herein. I'm only kidnapping them for a change of pace, and will return them sated and happy.  
Author's Notes: Thanks so much to my list-sibs for feedback and pointing out all the faux-pas made during a rushed muse-dump of this story, especially dot and Holmes for not hesitating in pointing out the stupid errors. Any that are left are purely my own.  
Constructive feedback or blatant brown-nosing is always welcome! <>

* * *

"Mulder, I'm fine."

"Respectfully, sir, that's a load of bullshit."

"Mulder, I just got winged."

"Sir, you've got a hole in the sleeve of your suit jacket, and a matching one going through your arm. That's a bit more than winged."

"Agent Mulder--"

"What's all this noise? Is the patient giving you problems, Mulder?"

"No, Scully, like you said, it's just a lot of noise."

"Good. Sir, you've got a choice of transportation: either go in the ambulance with the body to the hospital, or Mulder and I will drive you there immediately. Which would you prefer, sir?"

Both Scully and Mulder were fascinated by the display of flexing muscles in their boss' jaw.

"Let's go, then." With teeth-gritting gracious acquiescence, Skinner trooped over to the bureau car, trailing Mulder holding onto his arm like a leech.

"Keep that tourniquet tight, Mulder. I'm not sure what was hit."

"Yeah, we don't want him bleeding all over the agency vehicle. Just think of the cleaning bill on the expense report." Mulder flashed his boss a brilliant smile.

Skinner growled deep in his chest, and pointedly turned his head away from Mulder's pearly whites as they took off.

The traffic was fairly heavy as they made their way to nearby George Washington University Hospital. After a few blocks of silence, Skinner's soft rumble filled the car.

"Good work, Agents. I didn't think we'd manage to pull this assignment out of the fire."

"We weren't supposed to."

"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes...." Skinner sighed. "This will be one report of yours, Agent Mulder, that I'll read without having to suspend my disbelief."

"Now you see him, now you don't. The perfect covert ops man."

They subsided into silence again for the duration of the trip. As they stopped at the entrance to the ER, Assistant Director Skinner started again to make noises of denial about the seriousness of his injury. Scully ignored him, coming around to hold his door open and stare determinedly at his mulish face.

"Out."

He stared back.

"Now. Sir."

Skinner's lips twitched once before he slid out, pausing to allow Scully to take over from Mulder's grip on the tourniquet. The Emergency Room doors swooshed back as they approached, nearly drowning out Skinner's softly worded observation.

"Except for your diminutive size, Agent Scully, you bring to mind a sergeant of mine from the Marines. Same steely glint in his eye, same no-nonsense bark." He glanced down at her once through the corners of his eyes. "I can just picture you in a uniform, Scully."

The nurse and wheelchair Mulder had rounded up arrived then, precluding any response Scully might have made. With a bland look at them, their boss was wheeled off serenely to an exam room.

  
"My car is back at the scene," Skinner protested when he saw which direction they were heading.

"Not any more. I dropped Scully off while you were being stitched up; she drove it back to the Hoover garage, then left the keys with Kim. Who, by the way, sends her best to you, and told Scully to tell you not to worry about the Caraccini sting operation. She's got the whole thing covered. DAD Lewis has your assignment list and is working from the folder she prepared for him."

Skinner sighed.

"The other ADs regularly try to bribe Kim away from you, sir, you realize that."

"I know."

Mulder glanced at him curiously. "So what is your secret, sir? What's kept the Blonde Dragon from leaving the lair?"

"The Blonde Dragon," Skinner repeated, bemused. "Are you accusing me, Agent Mulder, of doing something inappropriate to keep my assistant from transferring to another office? In effect, of bribing my employee?"

Mulder gauged his boss' tone, weighed the consequences and finally grinned. "Yeah. I am. Sir. So what do you do?"

Drug-hazy brown eyes managed to look hurt. "You don't think Kim would choose to be loyal to me simply because I'm a good supervisor and a decent human being?"

Mulder opened his mouth, thought for a minute, and changed his mind. "You're right. I stand corrected, sir. It was out of line for me to imply you resort to bribery to keep a good assistant in your office. Forget I said it."

"I will." Skinner winced as he moved his arm. "It's amazing how much she likes those weekly sessions with my masseuse at the Downtown Health Club, though. Says it really rejuvenates her, and gets the kinks out."

Mulder nearly bit his tongue when the words registered. Laughter spilled out, all the way over the bridge and into the forest of modern high-rises that was Crystal City.

  
"I don't need your help, Agent Mulder."

"Just to be safe, I think I'll help you, sir."

"I can do this by myself, Mulder, I'm not a damn invalid."

"On the contrary sir, there's nothing of the invalid about you at all." Mulder watched as his boss aimed the key for the third try and missed again. "Just--a bit stoned."

Skinner blinked owlishly. "Stoned?"

Mulder appropriated the keys and opened the door. "Yes, sir, stoned. I think the doctor went a bit overboard with the painkillers."

Skinner stumbled into his apartment. "I told him I didn't want anything. The only thing he gave me was a shot for infection and some pills to follow up...Damn."

"Yup," Mulder agreed cheerfully. He took one last look at the suit coat and threw it over the back of a chair. "That suit's shot."

Skinner groaned. "Whatever pain medication he gave me, it's ineffective against your atrocious humor."

"I think I like you rather defenseless like this."

Brown eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't test the defenseless idea if I were you, Mulder."

"Who, me? Do I look stupid? Never mind, don't answer that. Why don't you go on up and rest like the doctor ordered."

"And leave you down here doing what?"

"If you don't want me to fix some dinner, just say so, sir."

Skinner sighed again, and walked wearily up the stairs. "Don't burn anything, and don't leave a mess."

Mulder mumbled loudly enough to be heard as Skinner trudged up the stairs, "Not stoned enough, evidently."

  
"I never got a chance to thank you for the other day, Mulder."

Mulder looked up and saw his boss standing in his basement office doorway, backlit and rimmed in bright light. "At the time, I got the impression you weren't too thrilled with my reminder about the realities of what some government personnel are doing to its citizens."

Skinner stepped into the room further, hands in pockets, effulgent and vital with power. "I was referring to my hospital visit, and getting me home afterward. I never thanked you."

"Oh. I'm just glad it wasn't a serious injury. There's been enough injuries and hospital visits, I think."

"Yes." Skinner stepped closer to Mulder's desk, covered in the papers and files he was reading. "About the Teager case 'being over'...I wanted to tell you something. I think I owe you this. I had pursued the matter further before I backed down. I pursued it all the way to behind the closed doors of the Senate Armed Services Committee. What I received were politely worded murmurs of shock and promises of looking into it. Then pointed glances at their watches."

"In other words, it was nothing more than a colossal waste of time."

"Yes." Skinner stood, looking down sightlessly at the floor. "When you said that Teager could have been me...that had already occurred to me." He took a deep breath, as if girding himself against something horrible. "I'm well aware that if certain sections of our government had a self-sufficient reason, they wouldn't hesitate to use me, or you, or any other citizen of this country, for their own ends. That in fact, this is what happened in this situation. Teager, you, Scully, me, my whole operations section. Set up. Used."

"Yes. And they got away with it. Just like they get away with everything else they're doing, whatever all of it is." Mulder's tone was bitter.

"They didn't get away with it completely, Mulder. You know. Scully knows. I know. So do the other team members who heard Teager that day."

"Now we're simply further liabilities." Mulder rubbed his eyes wearily. "Ah, it's not worth thinking about now. Just more futility. You're working late on a Friday night."

"So are you."

"Just trying to catch up on paperwork, the bane of my existence."

Skinner gave him a rueful look. "Mulder, you have yet to experience the peak of bureaucratic paperwork dealt with in the upper echelons."

"And at the rate I'm going, sir, I doubt I ever will."

They shared a rare moment of black humor in a meeting of eyes. Skinner broke it first, looking away and turning to leave. "I think I've had enough of the stink of Washington. I'm heading up to my place in West Virginia for the weekend."

"I didn't know you had property in West Virginia."

Skinner half turned in the doorway, framed once more by the bright florescent lights of the hallway. "Why should you? There's a lot you don't know about me, Mulder."

"Getting away from this place sounds great. Would you like company?"

The question popped out without warning. It was uncertain who was more surprised. Silence reigned for long moments as Skinner stood staring at Mulder. Just as the burn of humiliation began to color Mulder's skin and he opened his mouth, prepared to retract his ill-considered gaffe, Skinner spoke gruffly.

"Okay. I'll drive by to pick you up in two hours. Don't make me wait. And pack something warm; it may be spring in the city, but in the mountains, it still gets chilly at night and the day takes its time warming up."

Mulder blinked and Skinner was gone, disappeared into the light. He sat silently at his desk in the remote basement office, twirling his pen for nearly half an hour. Finally he stirred, shaking himself out of the fugue he'd fallen into and closed up shop, locking the door behind him. He cursed his own impulsive, emotional nature the entire drive home.

  
"Lost City. Sounds like something out of Indiana Jones."

"It might as well be. It's pretty remote back here."

"How long have you had this place?"

"I bought the property when I came to the area as ADIC of the Washington Field Office, seven years ago."

"It's a great getaway place. Did you and Sharon come here frequently?"

Silence met his question. Skinner responded eventually by standing up and going over to the fireplace and kneeling down on the mica-laden stones, poking around to resettle the logs.

"Sorry, sir, that was--I shouldn't have asked that personal a question."

"No, Mulder, it's okay. We can't be formal and stand on ceremony all weekend. It's a perfectly normal question." Red and yellow sparks showered from the logs as he nudged them into a tighter formation, then added a new log on top. The pitch on the surface snapped and popped as it burned. "Why don't you call me Walter, or Walt." He stood up. "Want a drink?"

"Sure. Got a beer?"

"Well..." Skinner peered into the cabinets. "You're in luck. It's not chilled, though, only the unheated room temperature."

Mulder waved that consideration away. "S'okay."

Skinner came back around the island that separated the kitchen from the main great room with two glasses in hand and settled back on the couch. They sipped companionably, Skinner with a whiskey and Mulder with his slightly cool beer, before Skinner continued.

"We came up here occasionally. Sharon liked it. I'm not sure why, she wasn't very much of an outdoor enthusiast. Maybe she simply liked the fact that she had my undivided attention for a day or two. She always wanted me to get away, come up here more frequently." He sipped, his eyes pensive and sad, as he stared into the flames. "We came less and less, especially after I was promoted to AD over Criminal Investigations. By the time Sharon filed for a divorce, we hadn't been up here in well over a year." He paused, took another sip of whiskey and looked abashed. "And you can't want to listen to my maudlin maundering."

"Actually, I do. Really. You've certainly been privy to all my family's dirty laundry. At least, the things we know about. It's refreshing to see the other sides of you, since normally you're in full AD mode with me."

Skinner shot Mulder an amused look. "That's because you're constantly challenging my authority on everything. I end up having to reassert my alpha male status over and over."

"Alpha male. Guess that makes me beta male of the pack."

"You hold your own, Mulder, have no fear. Who else has taken on the entire subversive bureaucratic community single-handedly? You do alpha pretty damn well."

"High praise, coming from a butch, alpha, ex-Super Marine."

Skinner snorted in derision. "Don't kid yourself. I bleed red like everybody else."

"Yeah, I know." Mulder was suddenly serious. "I've seen."

Two pairs of eyes caught and held, until Skinner stood. "Well, it's nearly midnight. If we're going to sleep in the beds, they'll need to be made up."

"This couch is comfortable." At Skinner's ironic glance, Mulder jumped up. "Point the way to the sheets."

The vacation cabin was a two-storied log home with a staircase descending to the second floor from one end of the great room and a huge quarry rock fireplace standing solid at the other end. An open kitchen and eating section were partitioned off from the great room by the island and by judicious placement of furniture. A pantry, a mud/wash room and a garage rounded out the first floor. A balustraded balcony ringed the oval second floor opening under the two-story cathedral ceiling, with two bedrooms and a bath opening onto it.

Skinner pulled out sheets from the hall linen closet upstairs, and together, they made short work of the two beds.

Skinner indicated the additional quilts on a rack next to the bed. "In case you get chilly. It's going to take a while for the house to warm up since the heat was turned down so low. Anything else you need, just let me know."

Mulder gave him a faint smile. "I will. Thanks."

"Well, I'm going to stoke the fire one last time and lock up. I'm beat." Skinner left the room and called back from the balcony, "Sleep well, Mulder."

  
Maybe it was the absence of light; maybe it was the silence. Mulder came fully awake and blinked into the darkness, then turned to check the bedside clock. The numerals gleamed neon red in the murky black: 3:02. He lay restless, sighing. Maybe it was Skinner's last rumbled words to him, an official demand that he sleep well, and his autonomic response of ignoring direct orders was now kicking in.

Then again, maybe it was simply Skinner himself, sleeping across the hall.

Mulder finally let that cat out of the bag, and sat back in amusement while it proceeded to tear around the rooms of his mind in a frenzy, uncontrollable and excited. When it finally settled down in the bedroom of his mind, lounging on the bed, Mulder knew there was no other choice. Or at the very least, that he would make no other one.

He got up out of his bed, his toes curling against the chill of the bare wooden floors, and cast his die.

The bathroom had a convenient night-light, its warm muted glow just enough to navigate clearly around the balcony to the other side. Skinner had left his door ajar, and the inky interior beckoned. The door pushed open without a squeak or a squeal, and Mulder had to grin. Everything in the house was maintained to within an inch of its life.

Which was more revealing, Mulder wondered, the man who had no one to care about and therefore cared nothing for his surroundings, or the man who had no one to care about and therefore spent all his time and energy being anal? Both of us are pretty sad cases, Mulder acknowledged. The irony had him amused. We're a good pair.

The bed lay against the far wall. Mulder's feet appreciated the scratchy warmth of the wool area rug as he padded soundlessly to the foot of the bed. In the dim illumination, all he could see was a vague mounding of covers on the king-sized bed. He had no idea which side Skinner favored.

He stood quietly for a minute, debating his next action, when a murmur and a movement from the bed startled his heart into double-time.

"Mulder. You going to stand there all night?" Covers were thrown back on the right side, a clear and certain invitation.

He hesitated momentarily, thrown by the fact that Skinner seemed a step ahead of him. Then his night-adjusted eyes saw the stark vulnerability in the blunt features, the naked brown eyes staring at him. His limbs released from their paralysis, and he moved unerringly to the bared sheets, welcoming the cocoon of warmed quilts that was pulled back up and over him.

"Jesus, Mulder, your skin is freezing." Without hesitation, Skinner embraced him, spooning around his body and attempting to warm him with soft, rough swipes of his large hands. As their bodies curled together, it was the electric shock of the embrace more than the embrace itself which fired heat through Mulder's body, a blossoming chain reaction of blood surging to his extremities. Blood pooled and hardened him. In seconds, he was painfully erect.

"Guess some of you is hot." One of Skinner's rough-edged hands curled gently around his hip, nudging his erection, and he gasped, squirming from the unexpected stimulation.

Wanting to take back some control, Mulder turned within Skinner's embrace, and pushed the brawnier man flat on his back as he leaned over him. "Now I am. How did you..."

"Know?" Skinner's words were wry. "Give me some credit, Mulder. You're not the only investigator in this room with good instincts. It was pretty obvious, anyway, don't you think? The sparks between us lit up rooms for years." Large hands trailed patterns of need down Mulder's lean spine. "Now you're here. Warm yourself up, Mulder. Take whatever you want."

The low, hoarsely spoken words enveloped Mulder, creating a woven blanket of need as they intersected with hot skin and hot eyes. Mulder leaned down and touched his mouth to Skinner's, tentatively at first, then throwing caution to the winds, letting the luscious feeling of heated, ardent lips against his own seduce him into a delight of the senses.

Warm, furred skin brushed against his chest, hard muscles beneath soft skin and prickly hair. His fingers sought out the patterns of muscles, dense firmness flexing under his probe. His mouth sought out the taste of neck and shoulder, tonguing the secret space behind an ear, enchanted by the unexpected feathery brush of hair against his nose.

"You've got hair."

"You don't need to sound so amazed," Skinner was amused. "It's always been there. In fact, more of it used to be there. I wasn't born bald."

"I never noticed this before," Mulder drew fingers through the patch of soft, short hair across the back of Skinner's head from ear to ear. "I guess the light reflecting off the top of your head blinded me to it."

"Are you saying I dazzle you, Mulder?"

Mulder's teeth flashed white. "I was. Born bald, that is. My mother despaired I'd ever have hair."

"Contrary to statistical averages, I was born with a full head of dark hair, which my mother said never fell out like most birth hair does. Nature's little humorous twist, I suppose."

"I like the look. You make up for it elsewhere." His hands tangled in Skinner's chest thicket.

Brown eyes looked solemnly up at Mulder. "Do you know what you're doing here, Fox?"

"Fox, huh." Mulder made a face.

"Yeah, Fox. Mulder makes it, I don't know, too much like the office."

Mulder sighed. "Okay. Why'd you ask if I knew what I was doing? Do I seem that inept?"

"Fishing already?" Fingers trailed over Mulder's face, painting a line across his lower lip. "You know what I mean. This, us. You sure?"

"Shouldn't that be my line to you? I came to your room, after all."

"Yes, I know. You had to. If I'd made the first move, don't you see the position I'd have been in, being your supervisor? Harassment. Coercion. Duress. Corvee."

"Oh, I see. Droit du seigneur." Mulder grinned. "Kinky."

Skinner grabbed a handful of Mulder's hair and pulled, shaking Mulder's head gently. "That's not exactly what I meant."

Mulder adopted a thoughtful look, his hazel eyes alight, as he moved on top of Skinner's body, aligning them together from chest to feet. "I think I can appreciate your position now." He moved, sliding against Skinner's body, dragging their skin together with a drugging friction. "But I think of it as more a kind of force majeure." He moved again, and they both gasped. "Inescapable. Inevitable." He moved a third time. "Am I communicating my position clearly enough?"

"Very," Skinner choked out. "Has anybody ever told you, Fox, you talk too much?" Skinner surrendered to the force majeure and rolled over on Mulder, devouring the mouth he'd been avidly watching as Mulder talked.

The sparks that usually played out in anger and combativeness in the office turned into incalescent hunger under the cover of night. This first time, it burned too brightly, too quickly for sophisticated maneuvers. They both discovered they had a penchant for taste, wanting to sample the variety and newness the other offered. The piled quilts shuddered and swayed, muffling moans emanating from beneath their undulating surface.

Under the covers, Mulder wrapped his own long-fingered hand around Skinner's, his head thrown back against the pillows as he cried out. "Yes! Oh god, yes, that's--ah, ah, oh..."

"Finally," Skinner panted against Mulder's neck, pausing to lick at a rivulet of beaded sweat meandering down Mulder's cheek and neck. "Reduced to incoherency."

"Shut up. Faster, harder," Mulder moaned, his one hand urging Skinner's on in the pursuit of their mutual ecstasy, his other splayed and grasping a handful of flexing, driving gluteus maximus. The split second bizarre realization he was going to leave dark fingerprints on the buttocks of the man who was his supervisor came and went, drowned under the more urgent considerations of moving just so, in just that rhythm, of needing and finding Skinner's mouth, his tongue, something suck on, now, now, now. The word replayed like a litany in his head.

"Oh, god, now, now, please, now." Mulder's voice rose on the last word, punctuated with a small shriek as he erupted from the center of his being outward in all directions at once, sperm and emotions and consciousness exploding forth in a joyous affirmation of life. He felt as if he would simply fly up and go free of the boundaries of gravity, just fly right up with nothing to stop him, nothing to anchor him here except the trembling, moaning body in his arms. The man who now was crushing him into the mattress and pillow, his weight a welcome and marvelous thing to bear.

Skinner's face was plastered to Mulder's neck, his breathing a raucous, noisy, living thing, the very hitches of Skinner's breath, the pounding of his heart in his chest pressed close to Mulder's own, as confirmations that Mulder hadn't experienced that moment alone.

Not alone. Not alone. The words echoed in his head, an unexpected rush of feeling welling up in him.

"Fox." His name rumbled in his ear, followed by the sound and feeling of wet kisses.

"Walter. You're alive."

"Hell, yes, I'm alive. My heart rate of one twenty tells you that."

"But the rest of you is as limp as a dead body. And as heavy."

"Limp? Damn right I'm limp. I think you drained every erg of energy I have. I'm not a young man any longer. I'm more into marathons than sprints like this. Jesus."

"Then roll over, old man." Mulder pushed Skinner, who accommodated his request and rolled off Mulder and onto his back. Mulder threw back the covers and slid out of bed. "Damn, it's cold!"

Skinner watched and laughed, a deep, contented belly laugh, as Mulder sprinted out of the bedroom to the bathroom, fumbled with a washcloth to clean himself off, wet another and grabbed a towel, and sprinted back.

"I brave the freezing air to clean you up and all you can do is laugh?" Mulder had to bite back a request for Skinner to laugh again; it was the first time he'd heard the taciturn man sound so carefree and happy with laughter. He was swamped with the foreign desire to do everything he could to make Skinner laugh without stopping.

"I'm lying here uncovered, Fox, thanks to you. I'm fully aware of exactly how chilly it is. You're not freezing alone." Despite his words, the big man lay back among the pillows like a sated pasha.

Mulder used the warm washcloth on the other man, cleaning and drying him off with surprising care. He bundled up the linens and chucked them over by the door before crawling in under the covers and pulling them up over both himself and Skinner.

They lay quietly, Skinner on his back and Mulder prone, touching all down the one side. Mulder's hand wandered even as his mind drifted, splaying over Skinner's chest, petting him absently, feeling the unusual sensation of another heart beat as he drifted off to sleep.

"Walter." Mulder's voice was the faintest of sounds.

"Hmm."

"No regrets."

"Mmm..." Skinner stretched and stirred, barely rousing from the sleep he'd begun to slip into as he turned instinctively toward Mulder, curling around him with arms and legs. "No regrets," he agreed, and sank back into sleep again.

Mulder slept, feeling warm for the first time in months that night, a goofy smile on his face.

  
"I see I don't have to ask how your weekend was, Mulder," Scully whispered in Mulder's ear.

"What? Why?" The chair Mulder had been balancing back on two rear legs banged forward abruptly. A few heads turned their way, and Mulder flushed, fixing his eyes sightlessly on the agent droning on at the front of the conference room.

Scully waited a few discreet moments before continuing. "Mulder, when you get lucky, you come in all, well, sort of lit up. It's cute."

"Cute? Thanks a lot. And what do you mean, 'all lit up'? How can you tell?"

"Just what I said. Sort of glowing. And I can tell because it hasn't happened all that often in the years we've been working together, Mulder."

"Great, Scully. First describe me like a virgin bride, then cut me off at the knees." He sighed and slumped back in his chair. "I should have stayed home in bed."

"Probably would have had more fun than being here this morning," Scully observed pithily. "Especially if you'd still have company."

Mulder's eyes strayed over to the wall where a certain tall figure stood leaning negligently, hip cocked and hand in his pocket. "Nope, sorry, partner went to work, too."

Scully sighed. "That's a shame. So tell me all about the weekend. Who, what, where, how, how many times, everything."

"Kiss and tell, Scully? I'm scandalized. I'll say this much, though. Five times."

"Five?" Scully hissed.

Mulder grinned evilly. "Once Friday night, twice Saturday, twice Sunday."

Scully subsided into glum silence for a few minutes before rousing again. "I admit, I'm jealous. You're going to have to help me find a boyfriend, Mulder. I'm getting desperate."

"There's always Frohike."

"Not that desperate," Scully gritted out. "Although I have to admit, Byers is looking good, which is starting to worry me."

Mulder sniggered.

"What do you think about--?"

Mulder glanced at Scully, and followed the direction of her eyes across the room. "Absolutely not! Scully! No! Are you out of your logical little mind?" He wondered if his eyes glowed a brighter green from the jealous possessiveness he was experiencing, and he felt helplessly ridiculous. "That's our boss."

Scully gave Mulder an odd look. "Mulder, I was looking at him," she pointed carefully, "the one sitting there. I've never seen him before."

"Oh. Oh. Sorry." Mulder peered at the seated man, unsuspecting of the targeting crosshairs of a predatory female sighting on his helpless body. "Nice looking. Ask Kim, she knows everybody."

"Good idea." Scully was still looking at him oddly.

The meeting broke up right then, agents filing down the aisles and out of the room in clumps of two, chatting. Mulder started when a voice spoke up behind them.

"Agent Mulder. May I talk with you for a moment?"

"Uh, yes, sir." He flushed, cursing his fair skin, knowing Scully's eyes were upon him.

"Agent Scully. Have a nice weekend?"

Scully blinked at the unexpected conversational sally from her boss. "Yes, thank you. I crewed for a friend sailing down the Severn to the Bay. It was lovely."

"I didn't know you liked to sail, Agent Scully."

Mulder grinned at Skinner. "Why should you? There's a lot you don't know about us, sir."

"Then let's work on rectifying that state of affairs, Agent Mulder." Skinner kept his face expressionless as he turned and waited for Mulder to walk out of the conference room with him.

"Yes, sir." Mulder was aware of Scully's eyes upon them as they made their way from the conference room. The hallway was crowded with milling bodies. "Everything all right?"

Intent brown eyes searched his face. "You tell me, Mulder."

"As far as I'm concerned, it is," Mulder stated quietly.

"Then it is as far as I'm concerned, also," Skinner replied in subdued tones.

They maneuvered around people waiting for the elevator; Skinner opted for the stairs. As the door shut heavily behind them, the background din of voices ceased and silence descended. Footsteps echoed as they walked up the first half-flight of steps. Mulder's feet hit the first landing and he found himself up against the wall, laughing breathlessly from the unexpectedness of Skinner's action.

"I just wanted to say a proper good morning." Skinner's body pressed in close, hands already buried in Mulder's hair, tilting Mulder's head at an angle as he invaded Mulder's mouth for a more intimate greeting.

Mulder could feel the edges of Skinner's buckle pressing against his stomach, could feel the press of semi-erect flesh against his own. He moaned, hands grasping and creasing the starched white shirt, knowing there would be nothing they could do about it all day long. His mouth was released.

"Good morning, Fox." Skinner gave him that crinkle-eyed amused look that Mulder decided made his knees as weak as the sight of the man naked.

"Damn, Walter." He breathed deeply and licked his lips. "Closed-circuit cameras."

"Oh ye of little faith. Please have some faith that your AD does know where the bodies-- and the cameras-- are buried around here."

One last kiss was pressed against his mouth, a thumb slid over his cheek, then Skinner backed away and started up the second flight of stairs to the door.

They remained silent all the way down the hushed hall to Skinner's office, past Kim typing diligently at her desk, a handful of messages held out to Skinner as he passed by, and into his inner office, behind the tightly closed door.

Mulder smiled and shook his head as Skinner sorted through the stack of While You Were Out messages. "I had no idea that behind your staid and tightly leashed exterior there lurked the heart of a firebrand. Since when are you so easy with all this risk?"

Skinner perched a hip on the edge of his desk, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. "Like you said, Mulder, there's a lot we don't know about one another." Skinner looked pensive. "I used to be quite the risk-taker when I was younger. I don't know what happened to that person: life, the job, who knows. But since a certain iconoclastic individual has been in my life, he's made me question repeatedly all the things I'd taken for granted."

"Shook you up, huh." Mulder toed the rug absently. "And how do you feel about that?" Skinner glanced at the door, and Mulder added, "I locked it."

"Good. Risk-taking is one thing, stupidity is quite another." Skinner reached out and drew Mulder's unresisting body between his long legs, wrapping his arms loosely about Mulder's waist. "How I feel, is alive for the first time in a long, long time."

"Good," Mulder whispered as he leaned into the embrace, his own arms going around the broad back. "Good."

They stood in that tableau for some minutes, each drawing unspoken comfort from the warmth and scent of the other.

Mulder moved his mouth near Skinner's ear. "How I feel is...not alone, Walter, for the first time in twenty-five years."

The words feathered across Skinner's skin, both meaning and delivery arrowing straight inside and causing his arms to tighten almost painfully around Mulder. "This isn't going to be easy," Skinner cautioned.

Mulder shook his head against Skinner's neck. "But it's already worth it," he whispered.

The intercom buzzed, breaking the silence. Walter detached an arm to push a button.

"Agent Delucas is here for his appointment, sir."

"I'll be just another minute. Have him wait." Skinner sighed and released the intercom. "And so it begins."

"How about...pizza and the Final Four game tonight?" Mulder looked hopeful.

Skinner grimaced. "Make it pasta, and you're on."

Mulder stared at the other man, hands smoothing over the muscles in his shoulder absently. "There's got to be a catch somewhere, doesn't there? It can't be this easy."

Skinner grinned almost predatorily in reply. "Just wait until you send me your first stack of 302s, or I have to read your first report and rake you over the coals. Tell me it's easy then."

Mulder sighed moodily. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Come on, duty calls." Skinner stood and walked over to the door. "You've got to go back and face Scully's inquisition now."

"Damn." Mulder stood stock still as Skinner paused with his hand on the doorknob. "You're right. Did you see the look on her face this morning? No, you didn't. I may have planted a suspicious seed accidentally. What am I going to tell her you wanted to talk to me about?"

"I thought you liked living dangerously, Agent Mulder. That's your responsibility." Skinner opened the door. "Let me know what you come up with."

Mulder glared at a blandly smiling Skinner. "Yeah, I'll make sure and give you an update." He went out of the office with a sour expression on his face.

"Agent Delucas." Skinner held the door open as the newly assigned Criminal Investigations agent went on in to the AD's office. "Hold my calls, please, Kim."

"Yes, sir."

The door shut to Skinner's inner office, and Kim smiled. She thought her boss must have gotten the best of Agent Mulder early this Monday morning. He was in an unusually mellow mood. She couldn't help but think it boded well for the rest of the week.

\--the end--  
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